The Dom Next Door

The elevator door felt cool against my forehead as I leaned into it. “You’re not going to knock on Eva’s door,” I whispered. “You’re going to walk past, go home, and have a quiet evening.”

Eva, the black haired beauty with a penchant for black skirts and low cut tops. Eva, who made knee high black boots look good. Eva, who I had gone out with a few times, until she told me that she wanted to tie me up and give me the pleasure that can only come from pain. I had been disgusted at the time but now my thoughts kept returning to the prospect. What was it like to be tied up by a beautiful women? What was it like to be beaten until I begged for mercy and teased until I begged for release, and then beaten and teased some more?

The elevator dinged and I took a deep breath. Why did she have to live on the same floor as me? She lived in number 637, I in 656. The doors passed. 630 . . . 631 . . . I needed to stop dwelling on her, find someone else. . . . 633 . . . 634 . . . I could probably get laid tonight if I called my ex, the art student with daddy issues. . . . 636 . . . I stopped and faced her door. Was she even home? Would she even want to see me. That made me feel better. I had probably pissed her off. With that thought, I turned and started back. The door opened.

“Hey, Jack,” a familiar voice said. “Where ya going, Jack?”

Slowly, I turned back to her. She leaned casually against the door frame. Her long, black hair fell loosely over her shoulders, over a red shirt with a plunging neckline that showed off an ample bosom. A black skirt stopped well above her knees, revealing a nice stretch of black stockinged legs above her boots. “Hello, Eva. I . . . uh . . . I’m sorry I didn’t . . . you know . . .”

She raised her eyebrows and grinned. “Glad to see me?”

I looked down. How could I be popping a boner without realizing it. My hand flew to cover myself.

Eva moved slightly. Not so much that I could easily walk into her apartment, but just enough that I could sidle past. When I did, she moved closer to me so that my body brushed against hers in passing, drawing a groan from me. The door closed.

Hers was a studio apartment like mine. She had a queen sized bed, few chests of drawers, a night stand, all the usual. It was a nice apartment, but not what I had expected.

She stepped in front of me and roughly shoved me back against the door. I let her pin my arms to either side and she leaned into me, not just a brush in passing but an extended press that made me shiver.

“It wasn’t nice of you to keep me waiting,” she whispered, so close that I felt her hot breath in my ear. “But you know how bad you were, don’t you? I’m half your size and you’re letting me push you around. And you’re going to let me hurt you aren’t you?”

I gasped.

“Aren’t you?” she said insistently.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m going to let you go and you’re going to strip down to your underwear. Those you leave on. Do you understand? Call me ‘Master.’”

“Yes, Master,”

She let me go and stepped back. I pulled off my shirt, my shoes and socks, and my pants with shaking, fumbling hands. Only my very stretched boxers now remained.

Eva, Master stepped forward again. Her right hand gripped my cock and squeezed while she dug the nail of her left thumb into my chest.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked, squeezing a little tighter and she spoke.

“Yes,” I said, then quickly corrected. “Yes, Master.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

I hesitated. How could I tell someone to keep hurting me?

“The question, Jack,” she said forcefully. “Was do you want me to stop?”

“No, Master,” I said quickly. “Please don’t stop.”

She massaged my cocked through my boxers, now stained with precum, and traced patterns in my flesh with her thumbnail. I was going to cum soon. That would be humiliating. Somehow that thought, the thought of my own inadequacy, aroused me more. In that distracted moment my hand came to rest on her shoulder. She turned me around so that my face pressed against the door.

“Did I give you permission to touch me?” she asked in a voice that genuinely scared me.

“No, Master,” I answered quickly.

Her nails raked across my back and I cried out. That had really hurt. “You don’t do anything I don’t give you permission to. “ She dug her nails deep into my back. “Do you want me to stop?” she whispered.

“N . . . No, Master,” I stuttered.

She clenched a handful on my hair and pulled my head back. “Are you sure? I’m hurting you a lot and you’re so weak.”

“Please don’t stop, Master.”

She pulled me backed toward the bed and threw me onto it. She was so strong for her size.

I lay back and closed my eyes. Something clamped around my wrist and I looked up. She had handcuffed me to the headboard with a fur lined cuff. I considered the implications of that. The soft cuff would not chafe my wrist. I could struggle and writhe a lot without hurting myself. While I looked, she cuffed the other wrist.

Master slowly pulled of my boxers and straddled me. She hitched up her skirt just enough for me to see her neatly trimmed pubes and he lowered herself onto me, almost. She hovered at the tip of my penis, letting me feel her warmth. I rose to meet her and she rose just enough to keep the distance. She grinned a wicked, teasing grin, and lowered herself again. I rose, and she did, too. I moaned in pleasure and frustration.

“You know, I think you’re very close. I think you’re too close for much longevity. Open your mouth.” I did as I was told and she put her right hand in my mouth, wetting her fingers on my tongue. Then she retracted her hand and rubbed those fingers on her swollen clit. Her eyes rolled and I knew that she was as close as I was. After a moment she put her hand back in my mouth, letting me taste her and lubing her hand for more rubbing. After a few more moments of vigorously playing with herself, her body tensed around her hand and she collapsed forward, her hair spilling over my face. The feeling of her shuddering against me made me wonder again if I might not just cum right then and there. “You’ve been such a good boy,” she whispered. She slowly rose back to a sitting position and leaned over to open the drawer of her nightstand. She took her time opening the condom, stretching out the anticipation and grinning that teasing grin all the while and she unrolled it down my penis with exaggerated care. Neither was she in any rush as she lowered herself onto me. I cried out again, then. Triumph, pleasure, and submission all expressed in one wordless noise. Her hips rocked against me, increasing tempo as I built toward climax. Just when it was about to happen, she stopped.

My eyes opened in confusion, to see that now all too familiar grin. She started grinding again, building up speed, building me up to come, and then she stopped again.

“Please, Master,” I begged, really begged. “Let me cum!”

She fucked me harder then, moving faster, squeezing and working her hips side to side until we both tensed, both screamed, both came. It went on and on. My stomach hurt, as if all of me was pouring out in this one great orgasm.

Eva lay on top of me, her hair disheveled and a beatific smile of her face. After a moment the smile gave way to a quizzical expression. “Why did you keep me waiting?”

I looked away. “I was scared.”

She put a finger on my chin, turning me back to look at her. “Scared that I would hurt you?”

I shook my head. “No, Master. Scared that I would like it. Scared that I would be yours.”

She ran the edge of her fingernail down my body, all the way to my cock, which I realized was already getting hard again. “You’re going to love captivity.”

“Yes, Master,” I said as she pulled off the condom and ran her fingers along my shaft. “I believe I will.”

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